576 
.JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER. 
December  26,  1901. 
hurt  his  mental  digestion,  and,  a  little  earlier,  one  or  two 
weekly  newspapers  and  the  gardening  paper  afforded  the 
meagre  sum-total  of  current  literature  ever  thought  of.  The 
present  century  commences  with,  say,  two  dailies,  several 
weekles,  largely  crammed  with  material  of  an  exciting- 
nature,  the  inevitable  “Tit-Bits,”  “Answers,”  sporting 
papers,  illustrated  penny  papers,  the  cheaper  monthlies, 
and  these  are  eked  out  if  there  is  a  reading  library,  or  club, 
within  easy  distance,  with  a  supply  of  the  more  expensive 
magazines,  and  not  a  little  fiction  in  book  form. 
Now,  let  it  be  said  at  once,  it  does  not  follow  that  a  little 
of  this  kind  of  reading  is  necessarily  hurtful.  I  am  some¬ 
times  told  that  no  year  passes  without  a  personal  imbibition 
of  the  works  of  certain  favourite  writers  of  light  literature  ; 
it  is  not  quite  true.  Certain  books  of  certain  authors, 
perhaps,  undergo  an  annual  perusal,  and  I  enjoy  some  of 
the  witty  sayings  one  meets  in  the  best  of  the  papers  that 
exist  to  tickle  the  people.  But  that  is  not  the  point.  The 
fact  is,  that  a  confirmed  reader  of  the  literature  just  alluded 
to  cares  to  read  nothing  more  solid — not  improbably  he  could 
not  if  he  tried,  and  what  he  does  read  is  forgotten  as  soon 
as  read.  Of  tnat  I  think  there  can  be  no  doubt.  He  is  a 
chronic  dyspeptic  mentally,  and  worse  off  than  if  he  were 
incapable  of  reading  at  all.  « 
I  fancy  I  observe,  too,  in  the  literature  of  gardening  a 
tendency  to  levity,  a  desire  to  cater  to  the  prevailing  taste  for 
“  fine  ”  writing.  The  books  read  most  pleasantly,  and  we 
enjoy  the  process  of  absorption  ;  but  when  completed  we  are 
ready  to  exclaim  with  that  hungry  fellow  after  his  first  experi¬ 
ence  of  a  jelly,  “  It  goes  down  fine  ;  but  it’s  not  very  filling.” 
The  greater  part  does  not  repay  or  call  for  a  second  perusal, 
and  it  is  to  the  solidly  filled  pages  from  practical  men  of  the 
best  type  that  we  go  again  and  again  when  in  want  of  advice 
or  information. 
It  will  be  plain  to  the  young  man  who  may  read  this  that 
the  writer  entertains  pronounced  views  on  the  matter  under 
review.  He  may  consider  them  strained  somewhat  beyond 
due  limits,  and  be  apt  to  think  the  whole  discussion  as 
therefore  of  no  value.  Nevertheless,  the  principle  is  a  cor¬ 
rect  one  ;  but,  beyond  that,  there  is  another  proposition 
worth  considering  ;  which  is,  that  keeping  light  literature 
in  its  due  place,  Reading  is  not  quite  so  simple  a  matter  as 
it  is  generally  thought  to  be.  It  is  quite  common  for  readers 
of,  say,  an  article  that  arouses  their  interest  in  a  horticultural 
paper,  to  derive  quite  a  wrong  impression  from  its  perusal, 
and  sometimes  they  write  condemning  things  in  the  article 
which  in  reality  are  not  in  it.  [Very  true  ;  almost  the  rule, 
in  fact. — Ed.]  They  point  out  deficiencies  which  are  not 
lacking.  How  many  submit  to  the  inevitable,  and  merely 
register  in  their  own  mind  the  writer  a  blockhead,  it  is  hard 
to  say  ;  but  the  number,  could  we  discover  them,  is  doubtless 
not  a  few.  It  is,  therefore,  a  plan  to  be  commended  in  the 
ease  of  any  specially  interesting  article,  to  re-read  it ;  and, 
after  an  interval,  read  it  again.  All  good  writing  that  con¬ 
tains  something  more  than  words,  should  be  read  more  than 
once  ;  and,  indeed,  all  our  greatest  writers,  let  us  say  from 
Chaucer  to  Tennyson  or  Ruskin,  cannot  be  read  too  many 
times  ;  each  fresh  perusal  discovering  new  thoughts  and  new 
beauties. 
Reading,  too,  has  a  powerful  influence  when  we  attempt 
to  write  for  others.  We  do  not  expect  practical  gardeners 
to  'be  so  well  educated  as  to  be  able  to  judge,  with  absolute 
precision,  the  value  of  words ;  to  set  clown  their  thoughts 
crisp  and  clear,  and  to  produce  a  fresh,  clean-cut  picture  of 
the  subject  they  undertake  to  paint  in  words.  But  it  is  an 
undeniable  fact  that  men  with  an  inferior  education  to  start 
with,  can,  by  careful  reading  (which  assumes  they  choose 
only  the  best  authors),  become  expert  writers.  I  have  once 
or  twice  advised  clever  young  gardeners,  whose  knowledge 
of  gardening  was  above  the  average,  to  put  their  experiences 
on  paper.  In  most  cases  they  have  failed,  not  because  they 
had  nothing  to  say,  but  because  they  knew  not  how  to  say 
it,  and  were  so  disappointed  with  the  appearance  their 
matter  made  in  print — sometimes  much  curtailed— as  to  give 
up  writing  as  hopeless.  Reading  is  an  infallible  aid  in  such 
cases  ;  but  writing  should  not  be  discontinued,  because  it  is 
a  valuable  help  to  reading.  A  favourite  author  of  mine  tells 
me,  “Reading  maketh  a  full  man  ;  writing  an  exact  man.” 
And,  further,  one  cannot  write,  if  he  writes  “  exactly,”  with¬ 
out  greatly  benefiting  his  own  mind. — B. 
Christmas  in  the  Garden. 
Gardens  and  gardeners,  like  the  rest  of  places  and  people, 
seem  to  move  a  little  out  of  the  ordinary  routine  at  Christ¬ 
mas  time.  It  is  true  the  feast  falls  at  a  dull  season,  there  is 
little  that  is  cheerful  about  the  garden  itself,  solitude  reigns 
supreme  in  nooks  and  dells  oft  frequented  in  summer  days, 
but  yet  the  magic  spell  of  Christmas  affects  the  surroundings. 
As  a  rule  “  the  family  is  at  home  ”  at  the  festive  season, 
children  from  school,  and  friends  from  a  distance,  who  forget 
the  gloominess  of  the  garden  and  draw  no  comparisons  with 
its  appearance  a  few  months  back,  when  all  was  gay  with 
leaf  and  flower.  Christmas  is  a  social  season,  a  time  when 
you  feel,  or  ought  to  feel,  on  good  terms  with  your  neigh¬ 
bour,  and  the  “  good  will  towards  men  ”  does  not  remain  out¬ 
side  the  portals  of  the  garden.  To  the  gardener  it  may  mean 
work,  the  preparation  for  the  house  party,  the  decorations, 
and  all  the  rest ;  but  somehow  the  labour  of  it  is  lightened 
by  the  fact  that  it  is  for  Christmas.  There  is  no  explaining 
it.  It  is  just  the  spirit  of  the  season  which  gets  hold  of  the 
lord  of  the  mansion,  and  extends  its  influence  to  the  boy 
who  crocks  pots  in  the  garden.  Some  people  of  the  Scrooge 
type  profess  that  they  are  not  affected  by  it,  and  Christmas 
to  them  is  just  the  same  as  another  season.  I  do  not  envy 
them,  for  they  miss  a  good  deal  of  the  pleasures  of  life  ;  and, 
what  is  more  unfortunate,  they  rarely  contribute  much 
towards  the  pleasure  of  those  around  them. 
To  the  gardener  Christmas  has  a  very  practical  side. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  work  to  be  done  to  have  the  necessary 
plants,  flowers,  and  fruit  to  hand  ;  and  before  most  people 
begin  to  think  of  the  season  at  all  preparations  are  com¬ 
menced.  I  need  not  go  into  details — it  would  serve  no  pur- 
pose> — for  every  gardener  knows  the  routine  well  enough,  and 
reminders  would  now  be  too  late  for  any  who  are  behind¬ 
hand.  The  forcing  houses  supply  their  share  of  the  decora¬ 
tive  material ;  but  not  all,  for  Christmas  is  not  really  a 
season  for  exotics  and  rare  productions.  The  aristocratic 
Orchid  finds  itself  by  the  side  of  the  homely  Holly  branch  or 
the  simple  Ivy,  but  it  does  not  occupy  premier  place  ;  and  if 
one  or  the  other  had  to  be  dispensed  with  it  would  not  be  the 
material  that  was  associated  with  Christmas  long  before 
the  productions  of  other  climes  found  a  place  in  British 
gardens. 
In  the  way  of  decoration  we  all  seem  contented  with  one 
level  at  Christmas.  When  the  evergreens  are  being  cut  for 
the  adornment  of  the  mansion  the  garden  boy  selects  a  few 
choice  bits  for  the  potting  shed.  That  is  his  department.. 
The  unfortunate  journeyman  who  finds  himself  on  duty  at 
Christmas  looks  after  the  bothy,  and  the  place  seems  all' 
the  brighter  for  the  few  sprigs  of  berried  Holly  that  are 
dotted  about.  It  is  the  only  time  in  the  year  that  any 
attempt  is  made  to  decorate  the  establishment,  and  though 
the  youth  who  does  it  may  feel  a  little  heavy-hearted  when 
he  sees  his  companions  depart  homeward,  and  thinks  of  his 
own  solitude,  the  prospect  is  made  more  cheerful  by  the 
presence  of  the  Christmas  decoration.  Mind  you,  I  am 
speaking  from  experience.  Follow  the  spirit  a  little  further 
if  you  like.  It  prompts  the  labourers  to  shoulder  a  little 
bundle  of  green  stuff  from  the  common  stock  to  make  the 
cottage  look  a  little  “  Christmasy,”  and  no  one  says  them 
nay.  On  the  other  hand,  let  it  be  said  to  the  credit  of  many 
owners  of  country  houses  and  gardens  that  they  are  moved 
bv  good  old  English  feelings  of  generosity  at  Christmas  time. 
The  days  of  the  wassail  bowl  and  the  mutual  feasts  of  lords 
and  retainers  may  be  gone,  but  the  spirit  remains,  and 
displays  itself  in  divers  ways.  The  English  Christmas  is 
one  of  feasting,  and  even  the  most  dyspeptic  amongst  us 
give  themselves  a  little  licence  at  the  festive  season.  There 
is  feasting  in  the  mansion,  likewise  in  the  cottage,  for  which 
the  master  is  often  responsible,  through  the  joints  of  beef 
and  other  Christmas  fare  provided  for  those  in  his  employ. 
It  may  not  be  much  out  of  a  wealthy  pocket,  the  giving  of 
these  presents  of  food  and  clothing  to  the  labourers  and 
their  families,  but  they  think  a  lot  of  it ;  and  it  is  something 
to  look  forward  to  as  the  festive  season  approaches. 
We  live  in  the  days  of  trade  unions  and  koen  competition. 
Prices  are  cut  very  fine  in  the  world’s  markets,  and  between 
capital  and  labour  there  is  much  jealousy  and  frequent 
bickerings,  but  not  much  sympathy,  I  am  afraid.  There 
is  little  of  that  good  fellowship  between  master  and  men. 
